


Good King James

by Venstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: A short re-telling of one of my oddly favorite Christmas carols, Good King Wenceslas.





	

Good King James looked out from the highest window of his tower, safe and warm upon this feast of Stephen.  The snow was falling upon his realm with a ferocity to chill the bones.  The castle gates were closed, his people scurrying about to get to their nice warm beds before the night turned dark and brutal.

When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even, the moon shone brightly that night, illuminating the cruel frost.  The Good King saw a bit of movement past the gates and lights of his people safe within their homes.  Near the forest, there was but a deeper shadow at the edge of the woods.  The shadow darted out and James could see the quick and hurrying movements of a man gathering winter fuel.  James frowned, all of his subjects should have been warm and safe this evening, who was this shadow?  Was it man or was it but a ghost?  He called to his page, waiting at the top of the staircase, just out of sight from the high tower room.  The page started slightly at his voice.

 

"Hither, page, and stand by me.  If thou know'st it, telling.  Yonder peasant, who is he?  Where and what his dwelling?"

 

The page looked out of the window, the wind biting into his face where the heavy wooden shutter was cracked.  Shivering, he answered, “"Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain.  Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain."

 

“Why do I know him not?”

 

“Some say he is a mad man, a wizard.  He performs dark arts by the light of the moon.”

 

The King stayed silent, watching the narrow shadow chopping and picking up the sticks he was trying to break.  Even from this distance, he could see the shaking of the shadow, he must be fearsome cold.  A cloud passed over the moon, hiding him from view, when the cloud passed, the shadow was gone.

 

“See, sire!  A wizard.  Sorcery!”  The page cried out.

 

James stayed where he was concentrating on that spot and sure enough, he was rewarded by the shadow, darting back out to the pile of sticks.  The shadow grabbed a section and this time, looked up to the moon, the light illuminating a bony, pale face, shadows for eyes and hair that was but a moving shadow.  “He seems to be made of nothing but shadows and moonlight,”  The king said softly.  He felt the page nod hurriedly next to him.

 

“Come sire, it grows cold, we should go before he sees us in this window and casts a spell.”  The page moved to close the shutter and urge the King away, except he was halted by a firm grasp to his wrist.

 

"Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither.  Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear him thither."

 

The pages mouth dropped at the words uttered by his King.  “But sire.”

 

“Do not argue, let us go, make haste without dawdle,”  James said before he left his page standing open mouthed at him.  It took a moment before he heard the clatter of the shutter and the page following him.

 

The page and James forth they went, forth they went together.  Through the rude wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.

 

The page cried out with fear and cold. "Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger.  Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer."

 

Although they were bundled as heavily as they could, the page was cold, the King was cold, but he was determined.  "Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread thou in them boldly. thou shalt find the winter's rage freeze thy blood less coldly."  James stepped in front of the page, and while they were both dragging the sled filled with good tidings, James shifted so his bulk took the brunt of the wind and breaking the snow first, allowing the page to find relief in his shadow and easy footing.  With nothing but awe for his King and fear for the wizard, the page bent his head and shoulders into the task, and in his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted.

 

The reached the spot that they had seen the shadow briefly in it’s gathering tasks, they followed the trail left behind by the shadow’s own sled, until they came upon a garden well tended and dead for the winter. The king and page looked around.

 

“A sorcerer’s garden,”  The page whispered, hugging his cloak tight.

 

“I do not think the potatoes wish you harm,”  James murmured as he watched his page taking in all of the perceived unholy sights.  “Nor the carrots.”

 

“There be more but potatoes and carrots in that dark garden,” the page muttered.  

 

James eyes were drawn to the main dwelling.  Thick wood, sod and mud.  It was poor in his eyes.  A dark, dim light flickered from the windows and door frame.  While shoddy looking, the dwelling had a shabby tightness to it’s build if that was the only light to go through.  

 

There was nothing left for their excursion but to knock.  James raised his hand and with three thuds, gave the door a knock.  He paused and heard a scrape, a scuffle before a soft and lyrical voice come through the door.

 

“Who art thou that comes for me?  If thou know'st it, telling.  Beyond this door, who is it?  Who and what your need is?"

 

The page drew his chest up and answered ahead of James.  “Tis the Good King James come forth on this feast of Stephen.  Bringing flesh and bringing wine, bringing pine logs to you.  He would see you and we’ll dine with you on this evening."

 

James looked down with some amusement at his page and the bravery in his cold voice.  The door cracked open after the page’s announcement.  A bright green eye shone out below a mop of dark hair.

 

“Good King James, welcome to my humble abode, on this eve of feasting.”  The door widened allowing access to the interior.  The page’s eyes widened at the gentle welcoming and began to unload their burden.  “Do you require aid dear page, I would help you gladly.”

 

James answered the young man, the shadow.  “Nay good man, please stay your hand, I will help him shortly.  Kindly tell us what your name is, what at birth was given.”

 

The young man smiled, “Sadly King, I know that not, but I go by Q.”

 

James smiled softly.  “Q it is then if you please, and you may call me James.”

 

It was the page’s turn to look up with amusement at his King who was urging a peasant to use his first name and who had in fact, not packed the sled in the first place, but was going to unpack it now.  His King merely nudged him with an elbow.  Together they brought their gifts inside.  James was rewarded by a bright smile and glass cut green eyes at the generosity of his sovereign.  That evening, the page was taught not to frighten so easily at the unknown and to think kindly upon the poor peasant hidden from sight who had gone forgotten.  He looked at his King, who was admiring the shadow he had seen earlier and braved this journey with his unwilling squire.  

  
Heat was in the very sod

Which the Saint had printed

Therefore, Christian men, be sure

Wealth or rank possessing

Ye who now will bless the poor

Shall yourselves find blessing

 


End file.
